


underwater, unaware

by sabinelagrande



Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: ...not at the same time, Bondage, Consent Play, Dom Greg Davies, Dom/sub, Episode: s07e08 Mother Honks Her Horn, Hopeful Ending, Implied Greg Davies/Alex Horne, Jealousy, Kink Discovery, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Size Difference, Surprise Pairing, Voyeurism, no infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Well he didn't find fucking Narnia, that's for sure.
Relationships: Greg Davies/Other(s), Greg Davies/Rhod Gilbert
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	underwater, unaware

Greg's room is criminally easy to sneak into, because Greg has no sense for these things. Rhod has no fear whatsoever that Greg will realize Rhod has gone missing, because Greg is a convivial drunk and he'll be too busy fawning over whoever he does see.

So Rhod slips into the world's plaidest wardrobe and tries to find a good position. He thinks about sitting on the floor, but it's going to be too awkward to stand up; instead he finds a way to fit himself under the bar without protruding too much against the door.

He has to wait over an hour for Greg to come to bed, which is at best an inconvenience. Greg is either stumbling a bit or just being Greg, and he does all the things you do when you're going to bed. He turns out the lights, and Rhod realizes there is a massive flaw in his plan: he can't see a fucking thing. It's pitch-black in the wardrobe and not much better outside of it. There's absolutely no way he can take a video like this. Does he wait for dawn, or-

While he's thinking about this, there are rustling sounds from the bed. Greg tosses, turns, rolls onto his back. So he's still awake, then; not like it's a surprise. Greg picks his phone up from the nightstand, and Rhod tries a shot with his own phone. There's enough light for him to broadly make Greg's face out, but it's not enough for the camera to pick him up. That's a nonstarter, then.

Greg is scrolling through things for a while, what, Rhod cannot discern, but he looks dissatisfied with whatever it is. Probably reading the news, then, as is a danger of being alone with a cell phone in the middle of the night. Then he starts typing- texting someone, because then Rhod hears the notification buzz of a reply.

Greg's phone buzzes again and keeps buzzing, and Greg answers it immediately. "Hello, darling," he says, his voice a bit slurred with drink or sleep, and Rhod frowns, puzzled.

"No, I do not know what time it is there, and you know I don't care," Greg says. His voice sounds different than Rhod has ever heard it, a fond, intimate tone that Rhod is very much not meant to be hearing. "All I care about is whether you want to be a good boy for me."

Rhod's eyes go wide in the darkness of the wardrobe.

Greg shifts on the bed, like he's stretching. "What a good, clever boy," he says, and there's something so contented about his tone, like it's deeply satisfying that whoever this is has agreed to whatever it is he agreed to.

Rhod could pretend to be surprised that the person on the other end is male, but it would be an act. Greg tells people he's straight for reasons that Rhod understands; it's just that get one pint into him and he totally forgets not to tell people that he'll fuck anything that moves. The "good boy" stuff, however, is a new one. Greg, well, he has that way about him, wears stern and authoritative like it's natural. That doesn't actually mean anything, though. It certainly doesn't have to mean that Greg calls men up on the phone in the middle of the night, maybe in other countries, to do whatever is about to happen that Rhod will just have to be here for.

And yet.

"Are you alone, darling?" Greg says to- to whoever, to his boy, Rhod supposes. "That's very lucky, because I think you know what I want." Rhod can see Greg pushing the covers down; Rhod is spared, for the moment, because he doesn't push them down very far, just enough to have easier access to his-

Oh fuck, this is actually happening, and the only choices Rhod has that won't cause a catastrophe are shut his eyes and watch.

Rhod's going to watch. That's not a great reflection on him, but it is to be expected.

"Tell me what you'd like to do for me, boy," Greg says, and there's something in his voice, some note, something commanding and effortless that pings into Rhod's brain. It hits him so strangely; he feels like he'd want to backhand anyone who spoke to him like that, but also it's ridiculously attractive. Greg chuckles, low in his throat, and that's even more devastating. "Oh, you do know me so well, don't you? I think when I see you next there might even be some kind of reward for attentiveness." A pause, and then Greg laughs. "Well, maybe I want to give you a little something better than I can manage over the phone. Good boys who wait get even better rewards." He snorts at the response. "I'll spoil whoever I want to, thank you very much."

Greg seems to sink deeper into the bed, and Rhod can see, just at the edge of the light that his phone casts, that he's slipped his hand under the covers, probably into his pants. "What's your bright idea, then?" Greg says, and Rhod can see his hand start to move, just a lump under the blankets. Greg laughs. "How did I know this was going to open with you in cuffs?" A pause. "No, I enjoy it, but _you_ get off on it. You just want to show off how all those muscles look when you struggle, Hollywood."

Rhod has a bizarre moment where he has to entertain the possibility that Greg is on the phone to _Paul_ Hollywood. He just feels somehow that Paul Hollywood, though a twat, would be the Greg in this scenario. That's not the biggest reason he rejects this idea, but it seems to be relevant.

So. Greg is on the phone to a muscular male American, possibly an actor, who likes to be handcuffed. Rhod doesn't know why he's building this profile in his head, except that he knows himself well enough to know that it's exactly what he would do. He doesn't want to be hearing any of this, but now that he knows he _has_ to know.

"Tell me about it, my good, lovely boy," Greg says, and Rhod wants out of this wardrobe for more reasons than he can name. "You don't think I'd fuck you right away, do you? I know when I'm being baited, thank you." Greg laughs; he's doing that a lot, like this is- like it's _fun_. That shit's not supposed to be fun, as Rhod understands it. Greg's supposed to be yelling and berating and how he acts when he acts like that. Instead he's just, he's Greg, the way that Greg is in private, warm and witty and kind.

"Oh, that sounds _very_ nice," Greg says, sounding smug. "You do look good when you squirm around. You like to show off for me, don't you? I certainly like to look." A pause. "No, it's because you belong to me, and I'll enjoy every little piece of you, whether that's your brain or your muscles."

Rhod can't be hearing this, he isn't hearing this, there must be some kind of mistake. Literally everything about this is a mistake, but also Rhod must be mistaken. He's frantically trying to make it work in his head, reconciling Greg with the person who's on the phone. He's not discounting the possibility that it's not Greg, that someone else is in his bed and for some reason using it for phone sex.

Greg laughs loudly all of a sudden, like he's surprised or delighted or both. "Oh, darling," he says, sounding achingly fond. "If you want to suck my cock, I promise I will find a way to let you do it, cuffs or no cuffs. Perhaps chains are involved." He waits. "There, you see? I knew you could work it out, my smart boy." Rhod can't actually see Greg's face, only the bare silhouette of it, but somehow he can hear his expression, cocky and pleased. "Tell me. Tell me how eager you are to get my cock into your mouth. Tell me what you'd do. Remember, no hands."

Greg's hand is moving faster now, and Rhod can just imagine it, Greg's thick fingers wrapped around his cock-

But the thing is that Rhod has slept with Greg before, so he doesn't have to imagine.

They didn't date or anything, didn't even really call themselves friends with benefits, but it was more than once, by a good bit. It was just that they lived together, and they hung out basically every day, and it started as a game of one-upmanship that should have ended and then didn't. It's just that both of them will take a thing too far, see it to its furthest extension- like hiding in a wardrobe listening to your friend of 15 years having phone sex with an unidentified man- and it ended with Rhod on his stomach, taunting Greg about not doing it hard enough even though Rhod was almost out of breath from how hard he was doing it.

So he knows what it looks like, even though not even Greg is looking right now. Greg's cock is like the rest of him: unnecessarily large. In Greg's hand it looks perfectly natural, because it's proportional to the rest of him; even in Rhod's hands it always looked enormous, too much. He took it anyway, even when it felt like Greg was going to hollow him out, leave him a wreck, ruined for anyone else. 

He didn't. Rhod has been getting along just fine up until the point of hiding in this wardrobe. He and Greg are still good friends, and all of that is in the past. It will stay in the past.

There's no fucking way it will stay in the past. Rhod's still going to get what he came for, even if he has to stay in this stupid fucking wardrobe until dawn. When and if Greg figures out all of this has happened, they're just going to have to deal with it then. It may entail Rhod getting the shit beat out of him. At this point, fine.

"This is turning you on, isn't it?" Greg says, and Rhod is stricken with sheer terror, because Greg _knows_ , he knows that Rhod is here, hiding in his wardrobe with an erection he really wishes he didn't have. Greg is about to get out of bed and open the wardrobe, and-

"I know you like talking to me like this," Greg says, because he doesn't know shit, has no idea that Rhod is there, is totally focused on the person on the other end of the phone, whoever he is. Somehow, this does not make Rhod feel any better. "Are you touching yourself?" Pause. "Aw, I think you really should be. What do you think I've been doing?" Pause. "That's it. Stroke yourself for me. You like it as much as I do. Think of how good you'd feel, my cuffs around your wrists, your arms being pulled back by the chains, the way you could feel it in your shoulders." Greg laughs, but it's breathless now. "I do know. I know all about you, and I know you love to take my cock as far down your throat as it'll go."

Greg is panting now, and for a moment he's just listening, like the person on the other end has taken over. "That's good, that's very good," he says finally, and he sounds so proud, so content. "You're close, aren't you?" He makes a shushing sound. "I want you to, my sweet, special boy. Come on, sweetheart, come for me."

Rhod is hanging on every word of it, hypnotized; he puts his hand over his mouth so that nothing can come out. He doesn't want to make any noise, he doesn't have anything to say, but that doesn't mean that he wouldn't somehow say _something_ and fuck it all up.

Greg moans, his hips thrusting up. "Fuck," he says. "Yes- oh fuck, _yes_ -" and then he sucks in a loud breath, hanging like that for a second, his body arching off the bed. Rhod forgets how to breathe, how to do anything at all. Then Greg sighs, the tension going out of him.

"Yes," Greg says, in a completely different tone than he just did. "Thank you, my lovely boy. You've made me very happy." He sighs. "No, you always make me happy. I'm just particularly happy with you right now, for reasons that should be obvious."

For some reason Rhod feels the worst about hearing this; it was one thing to hear Greg having phone sex. Phone pillow talk inexplicably feels so much more personal that Rhod is really, really uncomfortable.

"Call me soon, okay?" Greg says, soft and incredibly fond. "Not like this. I just miss talking to you. Besides, no one else will let me beat them at ping pong so many times." He laughs at the response. "Good night, Taylor."

Rhod's brain spins a hundred and eighty degrees. He almost boots open the door of the wardrobe and demands to know what the fuck. It's not like Rhod didn't know Greg was friends with Taylor Lautner; they work on the same show, they socialize afterwards, Rhod's met him before, more than once. But if Rhod had known that Greg was _fucking_ the goddamn _werewolf from Twilight_ -

Well, tell the truth, he would have been very impressed and honestly pretty proud. You should support your mate if he pulls someone like that, even if you definitely shouldn't say it to his face. Greg's head doesn't need to get any bigger, lest it block out the sun.

Then Greg just puts the phone down, rolls over, and goes to sleep. Apparently that was enough to tire him out, and now he's off to bed.

So Rhod stays in the wardrobe. Eventually his erection subsides, and his heart rate slows, and he's just standing amongst Greg's clothes. It smells like Greg, in a pleasant way that he wouldn't admit to enjoying, but mostly it's just boring.

When the sun starts to come up, there's finally enough light to get video. Rhod carefully records only as much as he needs, and then he extremely gingerly climbs out of the wardrobe. Greg doesn't even stir as Rhod pads out of the room, down the hall, and out the door.

Rhod is not presented with the reality of what happened again until they're in the studio, filming the bits of the show that go between the tasks. He, of course, watches the video more than once, edits it, gives it to the production crew, all that. The more he handles it, the less real it becomes. All of it narrows into "Rhod hid in a wardrobe, Greg sleeps with his watch on"; there is no proof that the rest of it ever happened. Anything Rhod saw or heard might as well be made up.

This is how he feels until he's watching Greg watch it. Greg knows exactly what happened, the whole of the night, and Greg is _right there_ , able to turn on him at a moment's notice. Rhod gets through it, he even makes a joke about what he might have seen, but Greg just seems exasperated, the way he is a lot with Rhod. Rhod thinks he might actually get through this. Maybe Greg won't connect the dots. Maybe he has plenty of phone sex with famous werewolves, and this is just one more.

Rhod's luck runs out halfway through taping the episode.

Rhod's eye keeps being drawn back to Greg while they're doing the VTR, and he catches the very moment Greg puts two and two together. He straightens, his eyes going wide; after a few moments, he turns his head, looking at Rhod with an expression so murderous that Rhod's surprised he doesn't drop dead just from having it directed at him.

Greg takes a breath and lets it out through his nose, looking a little like a snorting bull. Alex puts a hand on his arm, leaning in and saying something quietly, his face confused and concerned. Greg rolls his neck this way and that, and then he nods. Suddenly he's back to it, the Taskmaster again, because even though Rhod would and does give him shit about it, Greg really is a good actor.

They get through the rest of the episode. Thank god, it's the second one for the day, so they're done. Maybe if Rhod just leaves all of his shit and runs out of the studio, he can give Greg the slip. Surely they won't mind if he just takes his lav mic with him; there are more episodes, he'll bring it back.

This is of course not what happens, because they do want their audiovisual equipment back, and there are the little odds and ends to go through, and also Rhod left his keys backstage, and he probably needs them. All of this leaves enough of a gap for Greg to somehow sidle up next to him without Rhod noticing and put an arm around him. It looks casual, friendly, but Greg is gripping his shoulder so hard that it hurts.

"Let's have a chat," Greg says, steering him out. Behind them, Kerry laughs. Fine. Let it be known like that, that Greg took him off and bawled him out. That's a thing that will probably happen somewhere in all of this.

What else is going to happen, Rhod doesn't have a fucking clue.

Greg has an actual dressing room, perks of being the title character, and he rips open the door and shoves Rhod in. He goes stumbling into the room, which is luckily already lit, and he has to catch himself to keep from falling forwards onto the floor.

"Greg?" Alex's voice says from the hallway, which is not what Rhod needs. That little shit probably saw that whole thing.

"What do you need?" Greg says to Alex, and he reaches over and slams the door, shutting Rhod into his dressing room.

Rhod, naturally, goes over and listens at the door. They're not saying anything interesting, stuff about the show, but it strikes Rhod how he's saying it, gentle and conversational, like talking to Alex is more pressing than whatever he's going to do to Rhod.

Rhod is not discounting the possibility that Greg's got one in every port, which is a weird fucking thing to not know about someone he's been friends with for fifteen fucking years.

He can hear the conversation wrapping up, so he gets the hell away from the door. Greg probably expects him to have been listening, but Rhod's not going to just give that one to him. He's got to get some ground somewhere, because he's about to lose all of it when Greg lays into him.

The door opens again, and Greg steps through. He doesn't even look at Rhod, turning his back to him and locking the door, leaving the two of them alone. Whatever's going to happen is just going to happen; Rhod's neither big enough nor strong enough to overpower Greg or best him in a fight.

"How, exactly, did you see this going?" Greg says, with tightly leashed rage in his voice.

"Which part?" Rhod asks.

"Why don't we start at the beginning?" Greg says nastily.

"How this was supposed to go is I was going to hide in your wardrobe, it was going to be creepy, you were going to be pissed but ultimately think it was something I would do, and we were going to move on," Rhod says. He crosses his arms. "It's not my fault if you cocked it up."

Greg raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Who does that?" Rhod says, on more solid footing now. "Who has a party and thinks afterwards, 'D'ya know what I should do, I should call a twink on another continent and talk to him about bondage while I wank to it.'"

"Taylor is a full grown man and built like a Sherman tank," Greg says. "He is no one's definition of a twink."

"Oh I'm sorry," Rhod says, putting a hand to his chest. "I don't know the minutiae of the classifications of the boys you fuck."

"Hang on," Greg says, because he's faster than most at figuring out when Rhod is trying to pull some bullshit. "So you hid in my house without my permission with the intent to videotape me and put it on television, and now I'm the asshole because, while you were doing this without my knowledge, I decided to undertake some completely normal behavior in my own bed with another consenting adult?"

Rhod doesn't have a good answer for that, but he can't give in now. "Well I wouldn't call it completely normal."

Greg narrows his eyes, and oh, Rhod doesn't like that. "You're jealous, aren't you."

Rhod recoils. "I'm not jealous."

"You're so fucking jealous it's sickening," Greg says, and his face is humorless, flat. It makes Rhod's skin crawl, and he can't even say why.

"Why the fuck would I be jealous?" Rhod says. "You can call whoever you want. Fuck a hundred teenage heartthrobs, see if it fucking matters to me at all."

"For the last time, he's not a teenager," Greg says flatly.

"Oh, that's a sticking point, then?" Rhod says. "You can have all the boys you want, as long as it's make believe?"

"You don't want to go down this road," Greg says, and he looks almost bored, which Rhod knows is a very dangerous look on him. "You're not going to like where it ends up."

"Maybe I fucking do," Rhod says. "Maybe it'd do you good to have a chat about your tastes."

"Take one more step," Greg says.

Rhod takes a literal one, though it still leaves them fairly far apart. "Does it help that he's young enough to be your son?"

"You're jealous, because you know you can't replace him," Greg says, emotionless. "You're never going to be my boy."

Rhod feels like all the air has been sucked out of him, and for a moment he feels paralyzed. "Yeah," he says, when he remembers how to talk again, because it's true. He'll never come close to being someone like that, in Greg's life and in general. "Didn't need you to say it quite like that, but yeah."

"You fucked up," Greg says, his voice measured, his manner direct. "You invaded my privacy. It wasn't worth it."

"It wasn't," Rhod says. "I shouldn't have." He shrugs. "Sorry."

"Now," Greg says. "You couldn't replace him because the two of you are so radically different. You absolutely do not want me to put you in handcuffs and call you a good boy, and you fucking know it."

"Not gonna argue with you there," Rhod says. He startles, the realization of what's just happened hitting him. "What the- did you just- I never would have- you played me!"

"Oh, like a cheap violin," Greg says, and he can't keep the smile off his face. "I am an actor, and I was a teacher, so if I can't lead an idiot to a confession, my life's work has been wasted." He shrugs. "It is perfectly healthy to use the word boy in a sexual context, and no one has ever mistaken Taylor for my son." He pauses. "They mistake Ed Gamble for my son, which is honestly much more insulting. He really isn't young enough to be my child."

"Not much family resemblance," Rhod says.

"You can see it a little around the eyes," Greg says.

"I guess I really am sorry," Rhod says. "It would have just been a prank, but that's not what happened, and I should have done something when I realized things were going wrong. I dunno what, but something different than what I did."

"I will absolutely be getting you back in some fashion, when you least expect it," Greg says. "But apology accepted." For the first time he looks a little uncomfortable, hesitant, maybe. "Are you actually still interested?"

Rhod sighs aggressively, feeling deeply frustrated with himself. "Yeah, apparently." He waves a hand. "I won't, y'know, get in the way of your werewolf or anything. We can just call this a write-off."

"I'm not exclusive with him, or anybody," Greg says, which lends credibility to Rhod's theory that he's getting far more than he advertises. "I know you're married, so we'd have to-"

"Ah, about that," Rhod says, wincing.

"What about that?" Greg says, looking unamused. "Sian is my friend, I'm not doing anything she doesn't agree to."

Rhod runs his hand through his own hair, a scrubbing motion. "Yeah, she already decided we were going to fuck again."

Greg's eyebrows go up. "Beg pardon?"

"She knows that we used to, you know," Rhod says sheepishly, wondering if having sex with Greg is worth having to tell him this story. "Me and her, we got into an argument, because I said it was through and she said it wasn't, and she gave me a free pass because then she'd win the argument." Greg is doubled over, cackling to the point of wheezing. "It's not _that_ funny," Rhod mutters, annoyed.

Greg straightens, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye. "You two are made for each other."

"Yeah, yeah," Rhod says, though he's secretly pleased.

"Then the question is what I'm going to do to you," Greg says, and there's that voice again, the one that makes something in Rhod sit up and take notice. This is different, not like how he heard it when Greg was on the phone; this one is sharper, harder.

"And you think you're going to do to me, not the other way around?" Rhod challenges, though he honestly can't recall ever having topped Greg.

"How are you going to stop me?" Greg says. "The door is locked, and you couldn't fight me off if you tried." That was a scary thought when he assumed Greg was going to beat the shit out of him; now it seems scary but also hot. 

It gets better/worse when Greg walks towards him; it's one, two steps with his long legs before he's in Rhod's space. Rhod stands his ground, because there's nothing else to be done. Greg isn't going to hurt him, Rhod's sure of that much, but it doesn't stop the fact that his heart is pounding in his chest.

"So what is this about?" Rhod says defiantly. "Think you can punish me now, like somebody gave you the right?"

"You don't give a fuck about punishment," Greg says. He grabs Rhod and spins him like it's nothing, pulling Rhod sharply against him. "You only understand revenge."

"Don't expect me to go quietly," Rhod says; he wriggles just to test it, but he's held fast. He can feel Greg's cock pressing into him, and just to be an asshole he grinds against it.

"Oh, I know you won't be quiet," Greg says. "But I think you're gonna go down easy." He bends down, speaking into Rhod's ear. "Say stop and I stop, okay?" he says, in a completely different voice, soft and concerned.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Rhod asks, because he can't turn it around like that, can't leave the mindset of having been caught.

"Yes," Greg says, back to cruel just like that. He holds Rhod to him tighter, and Rhod hisses when Greg grabs his dick, squeezing. He's already half-hard, because this is really doing it for him, for reasons he's just going to have to tease out later, if he does it at all. "Well, I didn't know you'd like this shit so much. Not that it matters, but I'll keep it in mind."

Greg tries to take a step forward and Rhod struggles against him, not letting him move. This is the intention, but unsurprisingly, Greg makes a sound of annoyance and just hoists Rhod up. He doesn't even have the decency to throw Rhod over his shoulder or carry him in his arms; instead he puts his arms around Rhod's midsection and lifts him up enough that his feet don't touch the floor. It actually hurts a little; Rhod kicks and flails, but he gets nowhere.

Greg pushes him onto the couch, Rhod's knees landing on the cushions and his head pointed straight on towards the back of the couch. Something is degrading about the position; people don't fuck like this on a daily basis, it's what they do in porn. He'll have all the leverage in the world to fight back.

He isn't going to win.

His cock is fully hard by now, trapped in his jeans and pressing uncomfortably against his fly. He makes a noise of surprise, not that he's sure why he's surprised, when Greg grabs him by the hips and pulls him backwards, his ass smacking hard against Greg's pelvis. His dick is in full evidence, all too-much of it, and it suddenly becomes real for Rhod that it's going inside of him, a thing he hasn't practiced in years, though that wasn't the last time he got fucked.

Greg reaches underneath him, quickly undoing Rhod's jeans; he yanks them down, taking Rhod's pants with them, and then Rhod is just there, bent over in Greg's dressing room and about to get fucked.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay put," Greg says, pushing him hard into the couch and then pulling away.

And all Rhod has to say is "stop". That's all he has to do. This whole thing is a show, a game, maybe as far as a way to feel better about what he did to Greg, but no further. Greg's a softy, a teddy bear, and the instant he knows Rhod doesn't want this, he'll be falling all over himself to apologize. This is nothing; he's not even cheating on his wife, the worst thing he could be doing with something like this. There is no there, there. One word and this dissipates, like cigarette smoke when you turn on the fan.

Rhod doesn't want to fucking stop. It feels like every inch of him is on fire, and the rush is indescribable.

"When have I ever known what's good for me?" Rhod says, turning and looking back at Greg; he's digging through his bag and comes out with a bottle of lube. Rhod _knew_ he was fucking Alex, and it makes him feel a little triumphant to be proven right.

"Then if you don't want the shit beaten out of you, you'll stay put," Greg says. It feels good in some fucked up part of Rhod's psyche, being threatened like that. It'll never happen but it could be true, a retribution that Rhod has always flirted with but nobody ever wanted. Rhod doesn't even want it. It's not coming and it never will be.

But what if it _was_.

Greg comes back, and he pushes Rhod into the couch again, his forehead knocking against the wall behind it. Rhod braces himself with both hands, flat on the wall on either side of him, so it won't happen again. "That's good," Greg says, and Rhod hears the sound of his zipper. He realizes suddenly that Greg never even took off his suit jacket, that he's about to fuck the hell out of Rhod still fully dressed as the Taskmaster. He doesn't know how to feel about that, but somehow it makes it better.

Rhod jumps when he feels Greg drizzling the lube onto his skin, so cold against his body heat, which seems to be at triple what it should be. "If you don't learn to calm down, you're not going to have an easy time of this," Greg says, his fingers running through it, spreading it around Rhod's hole.

"Fuck you," Rhod says.

"I'll pass," Greg says, and without warning he shoves two fingers in, pushing until they're all the way inside. Rhod can't respond, because it feels like Greg knocked the wind out of him. "Oh look, I finally figured out how to shut you up. Been trying to do that for fifteen years."

"Fucking hell," Rhod pants.

"It was nice while it lasted," Greg says. He moves his fingers quickly, surely; it's like he remembers Rhod's body, or it remembers him, because honestly, it feels pretty fucking good pretty quickly. There's a bite of pain, but who gives a shit, really. Sometimes things hurt and you do them anyway, just because you want to do them.

Rhod has gotten used to it, gotten into it, when Greg takes his fingers out, wiping them on Rhod's thigh. He hears the sound of the lube bottle again, then Greg is lining up at his entrance, the head pushing inside, then a little more, then a lot more, and Rhod remembers why this might not have been a great idea.

"Fuck," Rhod pants, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the wall. "Fuck, for the love of Christ, fucking slow down, you're gonna tear me in half."

"Shut up and take it," Greg says into his ear, his voice an ugly hiss. "What gives you the idea that you've earned the right to complain?"

That hits Rhod somewhere dark and deep, somewhere connected to his body in some kind of way, making his back arch, his cock thrusting against nothing. He continues protesting as Greg fucks him, because of course he does, not begging but almost getting there, alternately cursing and trying to reason with him.

The one thing he doesn't say is "stop."

That's simply because he doesn't want to stop, not even a little bit. It hurts and he wants every second of it, Greg inexorable, too fucking big in every way, completely taking him over. He's so hard he can't even deal with it, and the harder Greg fucks him the better it gets. If he lets himself forget, it really does feel like revenge, like Greg is taking his pound of flesh directly from Rhod's body. He doesn't know why that feels good, only that it does, speaks to him for reasons he can't understand.

Rhod can't stand it for another instant; he tears his hand away from the wall and gets it around his cock, stroking himself quickly. He's waiting for Greg to say something about it, taunt him, but all he does is snort derisively, audible above the sound of their bodies. Somehow that's worse, that Rhod doesn't rate a response, like Greg is done with his shit. Only that's not exactly what happens; Greg puts his hands on Rhod's shoulders and uses his grip to pull him back onto his cock over and over again, pounding into him so hard Rhod's teeth knock together.

Rhod groans loudly when he comes, completely forgetting that they're in the middle of the studio; even if he did remember, he wouldn't care. It only makes Greg push into him faster, until he finally surges forward, emptying himself into Rhod, holding Rhod to him even after he's done.

There are a lot of things Rhod should probably be thinking about, but there's nothing in his head. All he knows is that he feels _alive_.

Greg makes him- in a gentle way this time- stay put while he finds something to clean up with; the best he can do is a box of tissues, but it was that or makeup wipes. That mistake's been made before. They both get themselves into some semblance of order, at least enough so that they could leave the studio, but before long they've both collapsed onto the couch. Greg puts his arm around Rhod, and Rhod leans towards him, resting his head on his shoulder.

"I missed that," Rhod says, because he's feeling wrung out and honest.

Greg snorts. "It wasn't like _that_ before."

"Why not?" Rhod asks, a genuine question; back in the day they were just friends who were fucking, even if they sometimes egged each other on while they were doing it.

"I, ah, didn't get into this sort of thing until after you," Greg says, wincing a little.

"Makes sense," Rhod says. It's been over ten years; people develop new interests. "So this-" He makes a rotating motion with his finger, indicating the room. "This isn't what you do with the werewolf."

"Oh god no," Greg says, recoiling. "Even if he couldn't kick my ass handily, he wants to have a fun time and be a good, eager boy. He'd be _so_ sad if I so much as hinted at anything I said to you." He raises an eyebrow. "And he does have a name."

"Yeah, but it's funnier to just call him the werewolf," Rhod says.

"Point," Greg replies. He sighs. "We should probably have a long talk."

"Maybe not today," Rhod says.

"Maybe not today," Greg says, but he doesn't move his arm, and Rhod doesn't move his head, and they stay like that for a while.

\--

Greg is up unusually early; he's got some early call times in the next little bit, so it's easier if he at least makes an effort to stay relatively steady. This is currently day 5 of this plan, which is why Greg is still sticking to it.

His phone starts buzzing out of nowhere, making him frown. He isn't expecting is to get a phone call from another country, even though he recognizes the caller. He does the math in his head, smirks, and answers the phone.

"Hello, my lovely boy," he says.

"You said to call you," Taylor protests. "This could be perfectly innocent."

"It's midnight there," Greg says, amused. "This isn't innocent."

"Okay, you got me," Taylor says, with his usual good humor.

"I am still delighted you called," Greg assures him. He hesitates. "Only there's something you need to know."

"Oh," Taylor says, and Greg hates how he says it, almost like he's resigned.

"It's probably not what I made that sound like," Greg says. "I need you to know that-" He takes a breath- "we got overheard by someone. I don't think it will be a problem, but you deserved to know."

"By who?" Taylor says, with a sharp wariness that Greg kind of hates he's already cultivated before he's even thirty.

"Rhod," Greg says. "It is a very long story, but he heard me on the phone to you."

"Oh," Taylor says again, in a completely different tone. "Well, that sucks, but he wouldn't sell us out."

Greg shakes his head, even though- because- Taylor can't see it. "He will ride you for it the next time he sees you."

"I know," Taylor says. "I've only met him like twice, but I know he's going to ride me for it for the rest of my life."

"You wouldn't be wrong, honestly," Greg says, and it is remarkable to him how deep his affection for Taylor goes. He's so much sharper than anyone gives him credit for, and he really is just a lovely creature in every respect. "But you didn't call to talk about Rhod."

"Nope," Taylor says. "But I could stand to talk about riding."

Greg laughs. "Then tell me all your thoughts on the subject." He grins to himself. "I may have a few of my own."

**Author's Note:**

> As Taskmaster and youtube will tell you I didn't make up the wardrobe or Greg being adorable friends with Taylor Lautner and I just really don't know which one is less likely


End file.
